


6 Times Merlin Woke Up

by rho_nin



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Doppelganger, Drowning, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Merlin, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Imprisonment, Magic, Magic Revealed, Malnutrition, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Not plotless but the plot is weird, Nothing is graphic because Merlin is not aware for most of it and he hears about it second hand, Passing Out, Possession, Whump, and in terms of food denial/self-harm:, but on that note, but that is it, food denial, its mentioned that merlin stopped taking care of himself, nothing is graphically described in terms of either, really light whump tbh this is not hardcore torture or anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 00:40:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18457940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rho_nin/pseuds/rho_nin
Summary: Camelot has an infestation of things that can possess or replace people.  Merlin has a problem because most of these things like to use magic.  Arthur has a heart attack every few months.Alls well that ends well.





	6 Times Merlin Woke Up

The first time it happened, Merlin woke up to the initial realization that he was covered in mud and that was really gross. It seeped into everything. It was in his _socks,_ for god’s sake. The second thing he realized was that Arthur was calling his name. When he opened his eyes, he realized that Arthur was _way_ too close and took up most of his vision, his face creased and worried. What he could see around the confused bulk of Arthur Pendragon was the other knights, similarly hovering. Lancelot had his sword out, looking conflicted, and Percival, Leon, and Elyan stood guard. Gwaine was nowhere to be seen.

“Hi,” he croaked. Arthur didn’t relax.

“I could take you apart in one blow,” he said, a sense of urgency in his voice.

“Arthur, what—?” Merlin curled onto his side to cough up half a lung. There _was_ blood mixed in the mud that came out so maybe he was coughing up an internal organ. That would be just his luck.

“Just answer it, Merlin, please.” Arthur’s voice was strained.

“I could take you apart with less than that,” Merlin whispered back. At last, Arthur’s face broke into a grin and he leaned away. He helped Merlin sit up.

“It’s him,” he called to the knights. “It really left this time. We’ve got Merlin back.”

A cheer went up among the knights and they all, one by one except for Gwaine, clapped him on the back or hugged him or said some variation on, “Knew you could shake the bastard, there’s a good man,” and left Merlin outstandingly confused. He couldn’t stand properly on his own, so he leaned on Arthur and Lancelot instead, his arms slung around their shoulders.

“I don’t understand,” Merlin said, once he was up. “What’s all this about? Where’s Gwaine?”

Arthur’s face got a pinched look and he wouldn’t answer any of Merlin’s questions until they got back to a fire that Merlin couldn’t remember building. Still, it was built the way he built fires and not how any of the knights would, since he didn’t have any care for whether it was great at starting the fire. His magic was good enough for that. There were some sticks he wouldn’t have picked due to superstition and the burn patterns were weird too, but that could be put down to desperation and issues with his magic, neither of which was unheard of.

Gwaine lay by the fire, unmoving and his eyes closed, with a trickle of blood down his forehead.

“No!” yelped Merlin, and he flailed enough that Lance and Arthur let him go. He landed roughly on the ground and crawled to his friend’s side. With a physician’s eye, he appraised the cut on Gwaine’s forehead. It wasn’t deep, which was good, but there was probably some issue if Gwaine was sleeping or unconscious. He wasn’t _dead,_ thank god. He had a good, strong pulse and now that Merlin was closer, he could see the rise and fall of Gwaine’s chest. Still, there could be brain damage with the wound. Or something else. They wouldn’t know until Gwaine woke up and they’d be able to assess him a little better with tests of his eyes and his speech and all. He fell over on Gwaine’s torso, too tired now to sit up better.

“Merlin…” Lancelot said, trying to calm him. “He’s not dead.”

“I know that. Of course, I know that. I—his pulse and breathing. I saw it. Because it’s my job.” Merlin’s voice rose into a hysterical pitch. “Lance, what happened?”

Lancelot looked to Arthur, who only said, “What do you remember?”

“Well, I definitely don’t remember getting here.” That was good; his voice was calmer, even he didn’t feel it. “I remember last night and we went out for a walk with your dogs because they were feeling neglected. Then we came across a young man who was hurt and I was treating his leg because… I think it was infected? I remember worrying about his fever and his general bad health, and then I woke up here, covered in mud.”

Arthur shook his head. “That wasn’t last night, Merlin. That wasn’t even two nights ago. That was last Thursday. Today is Wednesday. You’ve lost six days and I’m so sorry we didn’t realize it earlier.”

Merlin curled closer to Gwaine, grateful for a warm person to hang on to. “No,” he said. “No, not possible. I would _know_ that! How can I lose six days and not even—” He took another deep breath, trying to center himself. “What actually _happened,_ Arthur?”

Leon, Elyan, and Percival closed in, still on guard. Arthur and Lance sat down next to Merlin, both looking nervous. They had different tells for that, but it was still so easy for Merlin to see in their faces since he knew them so well.

“The man in the forest wasn’t real,” Arthur said first, which was absolutely the wrong thing to say. Merlin struggled upwards, his eyes wild.

“Wasn’t _real?!_ What do you mean he wasn’t real! I was treating him for the better part of an hour at least. Arthur, are you saying you let me treat a hallucination that whole time?” Merlin shivered when he felt the mud squelch in his boots and slide down his back to his waistband. “If I was doing some random bullshit like treating someone who wasn’t there, why didn’t you tell me? I’m losing my mind.”

“No, Merlin,” Lancelot interrupted. “That’s not what Arthur means.”

“I mean that he was a trap for you. I don’t know why for you, exactly,” Arthur admitted, “but my running hypothesis is that the goal was to kill me and you were useful.”

“As well as in the way,” Lancelot added.

“The two of you came back, and you said there’d been a man who died from infection,” Elyan said, moving the narrative along more clearly that Lance or Arthur could. “We didn’t think anything of it at the time. Then you were pretty normal for a few days. His Majesty can testify to that better than we can, but we didn’t see a big change in your behavior. You got things done faster, though, and that was weird. You were the most efficient we’d ever seen you.”

Merlin arched an eyebrow. “This seems like an improvement. Did I hit my head? That could explain a sudden change in behavior.”

“No,” Arthur said, shaking his head. “You were physically fine. But then, Monday morning, I saw my bed being made.”

“Watching basic household chores won’t kill you, Arthur.” Merlin rolled his eyes, trying to avoid the climax of whatever this was. “In fact, I’m certain you see me do that almost every day.”

“Yes, but this was different,” Arthur insisted. “Because you were across the room while it happened, organizing my desk.”

Merlin gasped as if he’d just been punched in the gut. Arthur had seen him do _magic?_ This was the end of everything he’d worked for. He wouldn’t last the night now. But it had been Monday? And yet he was still here… All he could choke out was, _“What?”_

Arthur nodded. “That’s when I knew something was wrong.”

“We went to see Gaius,” Elyan explained. “He was cagey about the whole thing. Probably was worried about you getting arrested. But eventually, we figured out that you were probably possessed, or else replaced, and it wasn’t you doing magic at all. So we made plans to take you out of the city and try to fix it. Gwen was worried because she thought you were in trouble, but we assured her we just wanted to go on a hunt, which wasn’t true. We’d both been talking about your change so I knew she’d suspect something.”

“That was two days ago,” Lancelot explained. “We left Monday afternoon. On the ride out here, Arthur’s saddle strap snapped twice and the second time it happened, we just tried to replace it. About three trees fell for no discernable reason, twice we had abnormal lights making it difficult to see, and every once in a while, we’d be besieged by phantom bandits.”

“You lit that fire by magic this morning,” Arthur said, pointing. “It was raining and none of us could get the kindling to catch.”

Merlin flopped back down over Gwaine’s stomach. “And what does this have to do with waking up in the mud with Gwaine being injured?”

“Well,” Arthur said, as if he was trying to sound matter of fact about it, “After you did magic in front of all of us at once, we sort of stopped what we were doing and just… Stared. You looked around at us and the only word appropriate for what you looked like is ‘feral,’ because I swear your teeth got longer and sharper and your pupils looked like a cat’s. You started asking about what we were going to do about it and then that grew to yelling about some sort of plan and revenge, and you levitated a lot of rocks. One caught Gwaine on the head. Percy tackled you in the mud over there and… the rest is history.”

Merlin looked down at his hands. He’d done none of this with his hands but… his magic had hurt his friends. He’d yelled at them, threatened them. He’d used his magic to do it. Or was it? It might have been the magic of whatever possessed him, in which case he could grow flowers and not feel disgusted with himself when he did. For his own health, he decided to believe it wasn’t his magic. After all, the servant Sigan had possessed didn’t have magic but he still used it. Yes. Just like Sigan, all over again.

“That can’t be the whole story.”

The knights exchanged looks like they were in a crowded room and had to shake everyone’s hand. There was _something_ about this that they were hiding.

Beneath him, Gwaine coughed. “Merlin, mate,” he rasped, “get off.” Merlin sat up, surprised. Percival rushed to Gwaine’s side, supporting him. From there, the conversation was derailed, or perhaps just delayed, as Gwaine’s recovery and awakening were marveled over.

“I’m so sorry, Gwaine,” Merlin said, tears streaking his face, after the other knights had gone off for the time being to get some food. “You got hurt and—and—”

“It weren’t you, mate.” Gwaine was generally in good health, barring a headache and a feeling of his chest being crushed after being used as a mattress for some fifteen minutes. He ruffled Merlin’s hair. “It was that bastard, seeing what damage he could do. _They_ could do, I guess.”

“The others won’t tell me the truth of what happened.” Merlin crossed his arms. “They’re sanitizing it for my benefit.”

Gwaine shrugged. “That might not be a bad thing.”

“It _is_ a bad thing, Gwaine. I have to know what I did.”

“No,” Gwaine said, holding Merlin’s shoulders tightly. “You didn’t do any of it. You’re as much a victim as I am, but you were used. I got clipped with a rock. Pfft! Big deal. You were possessed. That sort of violation is way beyond a headache. Don’t go feeling guilty because some asshole with magic took advantage of your friendship with Princess.”

“I still have to know. What really happened?”

So, after Merlin’s retelling of what he’d been told, Gwaine reluctantly explained how they’d found out about the possession when Merlin was playing with knives in Arthur’s room, nicking and cutting himself carelessly, then healing himself back up only to do it again. Then, they’d marched him to Gaius, who’d been in fear of Merlin for the last three days, since the young man was erratic and reckless and occasionally violent. Gaius explained his suspicions that Merlin was possessed by a sorcerer or some creature in the service of one, and they’d set out exorcizing him. Merlin hadn’t played with blades like that again, and they’d all thought it was open and shut, as far as these sorts of things could be open and shut. But when a minor noble had died at a feast because Arthur had been unable to attend and he’d been given the first taste of a cake, it being his birthday, the knights had begun to suspect there was an assassination plot. Then, Arthur’s bed had collapsed early the next morning. It was only luck that he wasn’t in it. They’d taken Merlin with them out on a hunt; assured Gwen and Gaius that there would be no danger in it against all reason, sense, and better judgement; and hoped for the best. Once far enough away, Arthur had started asking Merlin about things in their relationship and pretended that every answer was correct. They’d made camp and an interrogation began. Merlin—the thing in him, rather—was unnervingly forthcoming. It talked of unbalancing Camelot, tearing the king apart, ripping the city down to its foundation. Arthur had demanded it leave Merlin, and it had refused, at which point it attacked. It wasn’t a great shot, but it still hit Gwaine on the head. Percival had tackled him, pinned him, and they’d fed him an herb for dispelling enchantments Gaius had given them. Then they’d just had two unconscious members of their party and could only wait for it to get better.

At the conclusion of Gwaine’s story, Merlin gaped for a few seconds before bursting into tears.

“Oh Merlin,” Gwaine said, sounding a little stressed, “please don’t do that. Please—Arthur will literally kill me if he comes back and sees that you’ve been crying. I would rather he, you know, not do that. So please, let’s talk this out and calm you down.”

Sniffling, Merlin nodded.

They talked until the knights came back, and then they rode back to Camelot the next morning. Merlin was fine, they all knew now, though Arthur’s bed was still being rebuilt. Merlin tried to avoid thinking about how the knights had lied to him so easily. It was hypocritical to think that way, but they’d scrubbed the narrative so clean there was nothing left of it.

***

The next time it happened, Merlin woke up in a cell. It took him only a few seconds to realize it was a Camelot cell and that he was chained to the wall, but he couldn’t remember what might’ve possibly warranted such a punishment. He tried to call for a guard, but his voice fizzled in his throat, letting only a hiss escape.

Merlin waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Until, at long last, Arthur arrived. His sword was drawn, its polished edges flashing like a lighthouse in the dark dungeons. Arthur wore a necklace Merlin had never seen before and an unreadable expression. Merlin decided neither was a good sign.

“Do I know you?” Arthur asked, guardedly.

“Of course, Arthur,” Merlin replied, confused and hoarse. “I’m Merlin.”

Arthur frowned, but there was hope in his eyes. “So I don’t know you, yet you called me friend.”

Ah. Merlin knew _this_ game. “That was my mistake.”

Arthur’s face split into a grin. “Good to have you back. You’ll be out by tomorrow morning,” he declared. He pushed a tray of wonderful food through the bars and then left. Merlin didn’t see hide or hair of him for the next two days, kept as he was from his job by Gaius and the knights. Something else had happened, then, but once again, no one would tell him what. It was frustrating, was what it was, that the knights all thought him too delicate or something to hear the truth. He knew that whatever had happened was bad and it was almost certainly another instance of possession, but this time he couldn’t even get the vaguest mentions of his actions.

On the third day, a Tuesday, Merlin went down to the training grounds before the sun came up and wove flowers into chains while he waited for the knights to show up for practice. Tuesday morning practice was one of three sessions a knight could not miss without risking their rank, so he’d see everyone today. Gaius had been distracting him for the past few days, sending him on errands in far corners that the knights never ventured near. It was so painfully transparent Merlin almost wanted to teach him how to lie better.

When the sun at last crept over the horizon, casting long shadows across the field, Merlin had a monstrously long, multi-colored flower chain that was almost as long as he was tall. He looped it a few times around his neck. It was soft in some parts, rough in the others, and it hid the new cuts on his neck that he’d woken up with. His scarf didn’t come up high enough.

The knights filed in not long after and swung their swords around loosely. Arthur hadn’t arrived, so practice technically hadn’t started yet, and the knights chatted about conversations in taverns and card games. None of them took notice of Merlin, who lurked by a tree that was in the shadow of the castle even when the sun was directly overhead. The fact that at least half his face was obstructed with a haphazardly woven flower chain probably didn’t hurt his chances of passing unnoticed. Maybe wearing it when he went on secret magic missions for Arthur would be a good idea.

As if summoned, Arthur appeared. He ordered his knights into practice formation and ran through the starting drills for what seemed to be hours. By the sun, it couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes, but Merlin was so anxious to talk to his friends for the first time in ages that time stretched on just to torment him.

At last, when Arthur set the knights to sparring, Merlin stood up and waved. Arthur froze, then tentatively waved back. He directed Leon to watch the matches and strode over.

“You’re up,” he said, instead of a greeting.

“I’ve been ‘up’ for days, Arthur. It’s just that today I left my room too early for Gaius to pitifully derail me. Also, I made this flower chain and sat in the grass for a really long time and my butt is wet.” Merlin shot Arthur a disapproving glare. “All this trouble could’ve been avoided if you had just told me what happened instead of letting me out of the dungeon and then avoiding me.”

“None of us know what you remember,” Arthur said weakly. “We didn’t want to upset you.”

“Why would you upset me? And don’t you dare make me get the truth from Gwaine again. Just tell me yourself.”

Arthur glanced back at the sparring matches, gave some sort of signal to Leon, and guided Merlin back towards the castle. “Do you really remember nothing from the last two weeks?”

Ah, two weeks, was it? “Yes. Really, nothing.”

“Well, what’s the last thing you remember?”

“Going to bed after playing dice with you,” Merlin replied promptly. He’d been sorting through this for a while. “You lost spectacularly.”

“Well, we expect it happened sometime in the night, so that fits. But you… were possessed by something, again. You started getting up early and Gaius didn’t see much of you. You did all the chores I set for you, which turned out to be your undoing.” Arthur sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I saw less of you, too. And then I gave you more chores because I thought you were slacking off. Some nobles visited and I loaned them the use of you because I don’t like them and thought you’d irritate them sufficiently. To my dismay and chagrin, you acted as a perfect servant. There were times you messed things up and we were frustrated with you ourselves, but mostly you were the paragon of servitude.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t try to keep me possessed,” Merlin said, only half joking.

“It was killing you,” Arthur snapped. “I never want to see you act like that again.”

“How on earth was doing what is literally my job killing me?”

Arthur sat Merlin down on the ground and started pacing. He looked as though he would start pulling out his hair soon. “You were forgoing food and water to get everything done. You collapsed in the middle of the hallway and tried to keep going and you didn’t tell anyone. You were—you broke your wrist and kept doing your chores. It was outrageous. And… apparently the ghost who possessed you was from before Uther’s time, since you started using magic to get all your chores done. We locked you downstairs so you couldn’t run yourself ragged anymore. I had to _order_ you to eat and drink. I’ll never let that happen again.”

Merlin groaned. No wonder he’d been feeling out of sorts. At least he hadn’t hurt anyone this time. Losing some weight was nothing compared to hurting or attacking his friends. “Well, the consequences aren’t as dire this time around,” he offered.

“You don’t understand, Merlin. We had two weeks of this. The knights and I… weren’t on our best behavior with you. We got angry sometimes that you were being too subservient or too meek and you weren’t our _friend_ anymore. You took it, but now… I can say nothing but that I am sorry for all I said and did.” 

Merlin, chilled, never asked what his friends had done.

***

The third time, Merlin woke in another cell. It wasn’t a Camelot cell, and indeed barely looked like it would be part of any castle what with its stalactites and stalagmites. It looked more like a cave with bars, when it came right down to it, and the security of those bars was in question until he tried them. After that, he knew he could only get out through the door with a key, since the bars were cold iron.

Perhaps he could conjure a key. Then again, he’d never learned such a spell, though it was a small wonder he’d never sought it out before with how often stealing keys was useful. Still, he didn’t know where the real key was and he didn’t know a spell to make one, so he was, for the moment at least, stuck.

He tried to think over other ways to get out and then to find his way back to Camelot as he sat in the dust of the cave. He could try to make a earthquake and hope it would shake the bars loose, but he ran the risk of collapsing the cave. If _that_ happened, he might be able to escape through a hole or something, but he might also be crushed under thousands, if not millions, of pounds of rock. That, he concluded, would probably be bad. He didn’t want to do that.

Still, it was the best plan he had.

Summoning all the power he had access to, he slammed his hands into the ground and let loose a ripple through the cave. The stone walls shuddered and tossed Merlin to the floor. Panicked, he threw up a shield and hid underneath it while the mountain came down around him. When at last it stopped shaking, his ears were ringing and he was partially covered by boulders. He pushed through them with his shield and at last could rest, panting for breath, on top of the rock fall where the sky was visible. It was blue and sometime in the morning if he had to guess, but where Merlin was he couldn’t tell. He’d lost his jacket somewhere along the way, so he hugged himself and tucked his hands in his armpits. Though not necessarily a good plan, Merlin decided to pick a direction and just keep going until he found someone who could point him in a better one.

He’d been walking for at least several hours and the sun dipped below the horizon when he heard the thunder of horse hooves pounding through the forest. He threw himself into the undergrowth and with a golden glint of his eyes, he was covered in leaves.

Instead of going past, though, the horse came to a stop. Merlin didn’t dare move.

“Merlin?”

Lancelot?

“Merlin, thank god I’ve found you. Are you alright?”

Merlin rolled over and sat up, brushing leaves out of his hair. “I’m fine. I’m confused to no end and I don’t know where I am, but I don’t think I’m hurt.”

Lancelot pulled him to his feet. “You’re covered in dust. Were you by that mountain when it collapsed?”

“Yes. To be more accurate, I was not only in the mountain when it collapsed, but collapsed it myself. I was trapped in a cell and there wasn’t any other way to get out. So… boom? I guess I could’ve waited for you, but I wanted to get out. I didn’t know what was going on; still don’t.”

“I’ll explain as we go back. Here, hop on.” They both clambered onto the horse and set off.

“So what’s up? Any idea why I was in a cell in a mountain?” Merlin felt significantly better than he usually did when waking up with no memory of why or how he was where he was. His voice was strong and his muscles were healthy, so he couldn’t complain.

“Well, you’ve been gone even longer than the other times. Part of that is on us: we thought you were still with us in Camelot for at least a week, maybe more. But it turned out you’d been replaced with an assassin who was trying to enchant the court and all that fun stuff. They raided the vault of magical artifacts and rigged Arthur’s room so that there was almost no safe way to go into it, so he’s been sleeping out of there for a while.” They crossed a river and the country started to look a bit more familiar. “Your double attacked Gaius when he tried to examine it, but he’s fine. Unfortunately, it used magic publicly like most of these incidents do, and by that point Arthur was convinced either you were possessed or replaced and got Gaius to do some more evaluations. When it was determined that the double wasn’t even your body, Arthur ran it through. We’ve been looking for you ever since, so I’ve been out here for about five days now.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

“Well, why am I always the one who’s possessed or duplicated or whatever? There must be something wrong with me that it happens. And I never resist them or know that something’s happening until the damage is done.” He felt tears slip down his face and pressed his face into Lancelot’s back. “I’m not good enough to do my job and instead I endanger my friends!”

“That is _not_ what’s happening,” Lancelot retorted. “You are being attacked and used, against your wishes, by powerful magical beings who want other people dead. You’re getting hurt and we don’t realize. You’re in danger all the time and we aren’t paying enough attention, even though we’ve all agreed that you’re our responsibility. You only know two people who know about your magic because you worry everyone else might dislike you or attack you and so you’re far more isolated than most people in a major metropolitan area. Merlin, you’re more than good enough. You’re stronger in will than anyone I know. You’re just in a terrible position and we can’t get you out of it.”

Merlin had nothing to say to that except a small acknowledgement, and they continued for many miles in silence through the night. They crossed the border into Camelot around the time the sun came up and Merlin fell asleep as they passed some of the outer villages.

Arthur woke him that afternoon, asking how he was and where he’d been. Merlin answered to the best of his ability but focused on the cuts on Arthur’s face and then the wounds of the rest of the knights. A double of Merlin had done this, had hurt his friends, and there was no one to find and hurt back.

***

The fourth time, it wasn’t really all that accurate to say that Merlin ‘woke up.’ He’d been aware of what his body was doing the whole time, all three days of the nightmare, but he just hadn’t had any control until the last hour or so, when he’d finally rid himself of the invasive presence. It hated water, he knew, and too much water could kill it, so while on a hunt with Arthur, he’d finally wrested control from the creature and fled to a river.

Now, of course, he was drowning.

Cold mud had found its way into his mouth and he choked on it and on the water in equal measure. The river wasn’t that deep, or at least not as deep as he’d thought, so he could stand up if he tried, but the current was trying to wash him away and he could barely cling to the riverbed with his fingers dug into the stones. He surfaced a few times to gasp for air, but he couldn’t do that much. The almost-freezing air hurt to breathe.

Just as he thought his arms were going to give out and he’d suffocate, someone pulled him from the water.

“Merlin!” said Arthur, sounding exasperated. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Had to get rid of it, Arthur,” he replied. “Check the saddle before you get on and sharpen your sword and make sure we have crossbow bolts and—”

“Stop, stop stop stop.” Arthur tried to sling Merlin’s arm around his shoulder and help him walk, but gave up and just carried him. “What are you talking about? Why did you run off and jump into the river like that?”

The cold wind blew through the trees and through Merlin, who shivered in Arthur’s arms. They arrived back at their campsite and Arthur lay Merlin down on a bed roll, then covered him in Arthur’s cloak. Arthur set to starting a fire with their flint and steel and had a resounding success; in just a few minutes, they had a roaring fire going and Merlin squirmed closer, hoping to be warm. Arthur sat next to him and handed Merlin a clean set of clothes and one of their blankets.

“Dry off and change,” he advised.

Merlin did as he was instructed and came back to sit by the fire.

“So,” Arthur said, “what on earth were you thinking, doing that? It’s a little nippy out, in case you didn’t notice, and we’re supposed to be out here for a few days. What on earth possessed you to throw yourself into a cold river and nearly drown?”

“Funny you should phrase it like that,” Merlin replied, his teeth chattering. “For the last few days, a thing has been trying to settle in my consciousness. This being the first time I wasn’t fucking unconscious for that sort of thing, I’ve been fighting back, but only today was I able to take complete control. The thing has been avoiding water totally, so I figured dunking myself in a river might get rid of it. And I was right! I’m fine now, which is a relief, and I’m not dealing with the presence anymore.”

Arthur looked away and scrubbed at his face. “Not again.”

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” Merlin said, miserable. “I know I keep letting you down by being possessed or replaced or what have you, but I fixed it myself this time and I think that should count for something, right?”

Arthur shook his head. “I’m not angry with you, Merlin, and of course that counts for something, but I’m mostly angry that people keep targeting you. You, of all people! You’re not a knight, even. You’re just our friend who follows us all against what I’m sure is you better judgement. You’re not a great threat to anyone, except maybe a clean room.” A pause. “Don’t you dare tell anyone I called you my friend.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“They all use you to do magic, Merlin. We’re fortunate we’ve been able to explain away most of the incidents, or you might be on the pyre by now.” Arthur sighed and rubbed Merlin’s back comfortingly, no doubt taking his shivers as symptoms of the cold, not as a reaction to the very real threat of execution. “I hope you can shake these off in the future too, since I don’t know how long our luck will hold out, in terms of keeping these things secret. It’s a good thing my father is no longer on the throne, though. We’d have more trouble then.”

Merlin only nodded sleepily and leaned into Arthur. Before long, he was snoring.

***

The fifth time Merlin didn’t count as the fifth time, since he was awake and aware the whole time. He didn’t wake up any differently that morning than he did most mornings and he hadn’t lost any more time than could be explained by sleep. He met Arthur and the other knights by the horses with a few bags of food and they set off on yet another hunt, this one just as ill-fated as all the rest.

They rode through the wood and laughed together as they looked for small, helpless animals to kill and eat. Merlin still didn’t _like_ hunting, but he did like spending time with his friends, so he had to endure the dreaded activity of hunting until the knights decided they had enough food to sit down and settle for the night. When that happened, Merlin would be able to cook them all dinner and say whatever he wanted, with no fear of propriety. How freeing!

Of course, it was only a matter of time until something went terribly wrong. It could be bandits, a sudden magical creature, a sorcerer, or almost anything else under the sun that might conceivably attack human beings. Merlin couldn’t feel quite safe until they had at least one incident, and they hadn’t yet. Instead, he sat by the fire with the other knights and glanced around nervously, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Just as he was about to turn back to his meal of rabbit stew, three hooded sorcerers burst from the surrounding trees and leveled their staffs at the knights.

“Pendragon,” they snarled, all at once. “We will wash your sins from this world with your blood and let the souls of the tormented victims free. They will not be denied their afterlife, by you or anyone else. Have you nothing to say?”

Merlin looked at Arthur and shook his head, hoping he’d take the hint to shut up, but instead, “I’ve burnt few sorcerers since I took the throne. Those that I did had done indisputable damage to my city, my citizens, or my close friends. They got the treatment of any criminal who’d done the same.” That was, surprisingly, true and somewhat pacifying. “Furthermore, magic has done little but harm my manservant Merlin, who in the last year has been possessed, controlled, or replaced four times. It corrupted my sister until she turned on her friends and now we must have all our family spats out on the battlefield. I will not execute people who do me no harm, but magic is poison. It is harm in and of itself.” That was not true _or_ pacifying, and Merlin wished he hadn’t put so much effort into keeping Arthur alive so he could strangle the king.

“Your vitriol will be your death,” the sorcerers intoned, and with a foreign word, they shot three purple blasts at the knights. They closed their eyes, trying to prepare, to not see when their brothers in arms were felled.

Merlin, hardly thinking, cried, “No!” and raised a domed shield around their campsite.

Everything froze.

After the initial, unsuccessful blast, the sorcerers lowered their staffs suspiciously. The knights cracked their eyes open, just enough to see a glimmering blue dome surrounding them. Arthur recognized the swirling pattern, no doubt, since he breathed, “Mortaeus” and then held his chest like his heart might escape. Merlin, aware of it all, didn’t know where to go from there.

But then the sorcerers screeched and Merlin was thrown back into the action, adrenaline buzzing. He screamed right back and the shield let loose a wave of energy that knocked the sorcerers away so they landed with a crunch but also knocked trees back a hundred and some feet. He barely was able to deem the sorcerers ‘dealt with’ before falling to his knees and into unconsciousness.

He woke with a sword to his throat.

Merlin had experience with this sort of awakening. More than he cared to admit, in fact. But he did not have any such experience with Arthur looking at him so fearfully nor with such great anger as he did now. The knights surrounded him. He’d been rolled over, or so Merlin suspected, since there was still dirt on his cheek and he was sure he’d fallen forward anyway.

“What have you done with him?” Arthur demanded.

Merlin blinked stupidly. “What?”

“What have you done with Merlin?”

“Nothing, nothing. I don’t understand, Arthur, I’m—”

“Don’t say my name!”

Merlin shut his mouth with a click of his teeth and scanned the knights instead. For the most part, they all looked really rather angry; Merlin noticed how they glared at him and held their naked blades at their sides. Only Lancelot seemed conflicted, which was a good thing, probably. Maybe he understood what was going on.

“Have you duplicated Merlin or simply possessed him?” Arthur pressed.

 _“Neither!_ Look, I’m just me! And I’m sorry that being that way means I have magic, but those sorcerers were about to kill us, for god’s sake. I couldn’t just let that happen.” Merlin glanced back to Lancelot, whose face held a look of dawning horror.

“Why?” Elyan asked. He had his sword out but he was also looking at Lancelot and perhaps piecing everything together.

“Because you’re my _friends_ and I care about you! I can’t just watch you die; I can’t sit on the sidelines while you fall prey to something I can stop. I’m not helpless and I want to help you, too. Because you’re my friends!”

“This is a trick,” Arthur snapped.

“I swear, Arthur, it isn’t.”

“I can vouch for the truth of this,” Lancelot interrupted. The company swiveled to look at him. With six pairs of eyes on him, he said, “Merlin, the real Merlin, has magic. Merlin cares about his friends. He has protected Camelot against all odds and dangers since I’ve known him and will continue to do so, as I have no doubt. These are the words of Merlin, not an impostor. The others have been always malicious towards us; this is simply Merlin.”

Merlin felt a little dizzy as everyone looked back at him. Arthur’s sword inched away.

“Why didn’t you say this earlier?” Arthur’s voice was doubtful, but there was more hurt in it than anything else.

“God, Arthur, take a guess! Think about your father! Think about your behavior! Why would I think it safe?”

“Then why does Lancelot know!”

“It’s not like I told him!”

Silence strangled the forest again.

Arthur sighed and at last lay down his sword. The other knights followed his example, some looking bewildered and others, namely Lancelot and Gwaine, simply relieved. “Merlin, why did you learn magic? If…” Arthur seemed to be looking for a reason why Merlin would ever want to learn something that would get him killed, “something was wrong, you could’ve talked to us. I know magic hurts your soul, Merlin. What happened that it felt necessary?”

Merlin sat up, using it to stall. He was tired—he felt weak in his limbs and lighter than air, as if he could float away if Arthur breathed too hard. Such a release of magic like that would’ve felt good if he’d just done for the sake of letting his magic roam around, but the fear and tension it had been used in still lingered and made his shoulders tense. It was utterly dreadful. “Nothing happened, Arthur. Also, magic does nothing to my soul. Or anyone else’s for that matter. Anything done with magic would be attempted without it. I never learned magic, I just _have_ it. So I don’t really have a choice about using it.”

“But—” choked Arthur, “what about— _Morgana…”_

“I’m not like her!”

“No, you’re not,” Arthur said softly. “Of course not. You never could be.”

Leon’s creased forehead scrunched more. “Sire, do you feel alright? Do you feel yourself?” His voice lowered, but Merlin could still hear him. “You don’t sound like yourself.”

“You’re implying ‘soft enchantment,’ Leon, and I would never do such a thing to Arthur.” Merlin tried to stand, but he just felt light and weak. He stumbled and fell back to his knees. “Please. You’re my friends. All I want is for you to be safe. That’s all. I’m not your enemy!”

Lancelot started forwards, but Gwaine asked, “Are you feelin’ alright, mate?”

Merlin only stared at him, confused.

“Merlin, can you stand?” Gwaine asked.

Merlin scoffed. “Of course I can!” He got to his feet, stubbornly ignoring the shaking of his legs, struck a ‘ta-da!’ pose, and grinned. The knights—his _friends_ —smiled back at him, relieved.

Then Merlin, the Last Dragonlord and prophesized warlock, fell on his face.

***

He woke.

It was nice to wake this time, since he was nowhere unfamiliar and swords weren’t pointed at him and he wasn’t drowning and Arthur wasn’t there to test whether he remembered his life or not.

He was just in bed.

His bed, in Gaius’ quarters. The same bed he’d slept in for six years. Maybe it had all been a dream and he hadn’t come out with his magic yet. It would save him the fallout. He could go back to planning the day of his reveal meticulously. He could go back to writing letters that explained everything in gruesome detail and go back to tearing them up and setting them on fire. He could go back to plans about cakes with icing that announced his magic in rainbow letters. He could go back to fantasizing that Arthur would see reason and take the ban back. He could go back to his incessant daydreams about freedom and magic and respect for all he’d done, all things he could never get.

Maybe the fallout would be good for him, on second thought.

Then the door opened with a cautious creak, and Merlin sat straight up.

“Merlin?” asked a voice that he’d never known to be this careful. At least, not unless something was very wrong. “Merlin, are you awake?”

He squeaked an affirmative, worrying what had happened now.

The door opened completely, and Arthur came in.

“I was worried you were going to sleep the week away,” he said.

“When do I have a week available to do that?” Merlin quipped. He pulled his blanket up further. Part of him still hoped it had all been a dream, but another part knew that it hadn’t been. It was too real, the knights’ reaction too in-the-middle for it to be a dream.

Arthur only looked uncomfortable.

“Well, you have the week now,” he said.

Unnerved, Merlin asked slowly, “Why?”

“It’s recently come to my attention that you have skills that lie far outside those needed for service. So,” Arthur cleared his throat, “I’ve, uh, removed you from that job.”

_”What?!”_

“I thought you might, well, want to consult instead. On some new… legislation.”

Merlin dropped his blanket and stared, open-mouthed, at Arthur. “…legislation?”

“And when that’s all, you know, over and done with, I thought you might want a different job.” Arthur fidgeted with his shirt cuffs. Merlin tried to think of if he’d ever seen the king fidget before. “One more suitable to your, er, unique talents, as it were. I can hardly keep a sorcerer as my servant, now can I?”

Merlin threw off his blanket and stumbled out of bed. He was unsteady on his feet, but this was _important._ He tripped and Arthur caught him. “I want that. So much. I want… I want that.”

Arthur grinned, at last at ease. “So let it be written, so let it be done.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I've never written something in this sort of format before (the 'n' times format) so I hope it went well. Also upon rereading it I realized some of the writing might be a bit obtuse, but I really just wanted to post this thing that's been loitering in my drafts for maybe a year or more. Please give feedback (but not on grammar or whatnot because that gets really annoying)!


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